


Bile and Bedpans

by summercarntspel



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapper catches the sickness the boys in post-op are passing around and it's up to Hawkeye to help him feel better. (Told from Trapper's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bile and Bedpans

**Author's Note:**

> MASH is lovely and Hawkeye/Trapper is lovely and sick!fics are lovely, so please enjoy this.
> 
> LEAVE COMMENTS AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT MORE HAWKEYE/TRAPPER. SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOME AND REQUESTS ARE BEING TAKEN NOW.

When I woke up, I knew something was off. I had an ache in my belly, but it wasn't the normal mix of homesick and hangover ache I was used to having. I felt so hot, but so damn cold I was shivering, and the whole tent was spinning.

Before I knew what was happening, I turned to the side and gagged, tossing the remnants of the previous night's chow and gin all over my boots.

"Oh, God..." I groaned, cradling my aching, cramping stomach, clenching every muscle in my body for fear of the symptoms deciding to travel south, "Oh, ahh..."

A familiar, yet somewhat blurry face was level with mine a few moments later, the stench of bile reaching my nostrils and causing my stomach to flip again.

"Trapper? Trap, are you okay?" Hawkeye asked, a hell of a lot less hungover than he probably planned to be when drowning his sorrows in gin the night before, big blue eyes wide and alert, "You just tossed your cookies all over your boots... I know they aren't the comfiest, but they're all you got, kiddo."

I shook my head and buried my face in my flat pillow as I began to sob, the pain and dizziness and sick feeling becoming so overwhelming I couldn't handle it, could barely breathe. 

"Hurts so much..." I whined, tears soaking my pillow, letting out a gasping sob when Hawkeye began to run his fingers through my sweaty curls, "Bet I caught whatever the kids are passing around in Post-Op."

There had been a lull in casualties for three or four days, but we had several of the beds in Post-Op occupied, anyway. A lot of the guys had been sewn up and were in enough of one piece to be back out there, but there was some kind of stomach bug traveling around. Gastroenteritis was our best guess, and it was wreaking havoc on the kids, the nurses, the doctors, and the poor bed pans.

"You're burning up... hey, I'm gonna go get you something for this fever. You stay right there and don't move." Hawkeye commanded, voice stern and serious as he got to his feet, tugging on his robe and hurrying out of the Swamp in his stocking feet.

It seemed like an eternity before he returned, and I ended up heaving up some more acid and bile in the meantime. When he did come back, he knelt down, handing over two little white pills.

"This should knock the fever down and help you sleep. Right now, you need rest," he rattled off, sounding just like a doctor, seemingly forgetting that I was one, too.

Regardless, I tossed the pills to the back of my tongue and swallowed thickly, screwing my eyes shut as the new bitterness mixed with the foul taste in my mouth.

"Thanks, Doc," I muttered, letting him card his steady, gentle fingers through my hair a few more times, "I'm sorry."

Rolling his eyes, or rather those gorgeous blue diamonds that resided where his eyes would have been, he smoothed my hair down and offered my hand a quick squeeze, glancing over to the empty cot that he was Frank's before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my warm, sweaty forehead.

"No apologies, just get better... I hate it when you're sick," he whispered, the sentiment gentle and sincere, our fingers locking together when he offered another squeeze, which I returned weakly, "I can't be evil without my partner in crime. Now, get some sleep."

I was already feeling the pills kicking in, making my drowsiness increase twofold, so I did as I was told. Immediately.

~~~

When I woke up again, I felt a little less feverish, but was still in a lot of pain, my stomach cramping up. I gasped loudly, sitting up and struggling to get to my feet before a strong, capable arm wrapped around my waist, holding me.

"Hey, what's the hurry, Trap?" Hawkeye asked, helping me slip on my robe and a pair of slippers I had gotten on my last trip to Seoul, "You don't need to add unconscious to your list of symptoms."

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, "If you don't get me to the latrine, you're going to be responsible for dealing with the consequences of ruined shorts!"

He got the message, thankfully, and we scuttled off to the latrine as quickly as I could manage. I had to use all the strength I had in me to force him to stand outside the door, but he eventually relented, and just in time.

After some excruciating and gory details, I felt sufficiently safe and empty, even more dizzy from the extra exertion. I got to my feet unsteadily, wobbling a bit and getting my bearings before I opened the door, nearly full on falling into Hawkeye's arms.

"Ah, lovely, a one hundred and seventy-five pound sack of potatoes," Hawkeye grunted, causing me to smile the slightest bit in spite of my current situation, letting him handle all my weight, "After you come back from the dead, I expect you to do my hernia operation free of charge."

I was dragged back to the tent and gently placed on my cot, and I noticed that my boots were no longer covered with my insides.

"Hey... you cleaned my boots," I slurred sleepily, staring at Hawkeye with cloudy eyes, "You didn't have to clean my boots..."  
He smiled, taking a sip of a martini he made when we arrived back at the Swamp, "Oh, I did. The smell was making ME feel like throwing up, and I figured that was the last thing we needed. If you have to do any more barfing, pleasing direct the flow to the bed pan I snatched from Post-Op."

I smiled weakly, reaching for Hawkeye and waiting until he was kneeling beside me before I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're the greatest."

"Ah, you think that now, but what will I be after this?" he asked smugly, pulling a martini glass full of something that looked suspiciously like orange juice out of nowhere, handing it over.

I took a cautious sip, nearly choking. It was orange juice! My tastebuds barely recognized something real, but I was glad they didn't fully reject the idea.

"How did you manage this?" I asked, taking another tiny sip before I set the glass on my foot locker, "Are you growing an orange tree behind the still?"

He laughed, the soft, sweet laugh that was so light and musical it made my tough old heart smile, "We got a food shipment this morning. Klinger was on K.P., and, since he likes you and likes me so much, he just handed over the jug of orange juice."

I narrowed my eyes, not believing him for a second, "What did you have to give him?"

"Well..." he shrugged, sipping at the last of his martini before he plucked up the olive, slipping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, "Just a week's pay and a promise to back him up the next time he insists he's pregnant."

I giggled, shaking my head and settling back against my cot again, rubbing at my aching stomach. "You're nuts."

"Only for you," he responded, his voice teasing and sweet, "Now sleep, John Frances Xavier, or I'm calling your mother."

"If you call her, can you ask her to ship some chicken soup?" I teased back quietly, my eyes slipping shut.  
Before he could answer, I was asleep again.

~~~

The next time I woke up, it was because Frank was griping and Hawkeye was getting a little too loud with his responses. It was starting to get dark outside, and I realized that I must have been sick if I wasted a whole, nice, casualty-free day zonking out.

"Frank, he's spent the day asleep, only waking up to puke his guts out or run to the latrine!" Hawkeye defended, clear anger and irritation in his voice, and I couldn't help but think about how I missed the sweet, caring voice he used on just me, "Do you really want him to go work his rounds?"

"I just wish someone besides me would pull his weight around here! I'm not the only soldier, soldier."

I stared at Frank, just about ready to threaten to empty my stomach all over his boots or his face. "Could have fooled me, Frank," I muttered, feeling all the clear signs that my fever was back in full swing "Why don't you go play doctor and leave me to die in peace, huh?"

He huffed and made little whining noises, as per usual, then adjusted his hat and stomped out of the tent, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Well, thank God, I thought he'd never leave," Hawkeye chuckled, sipping at another martini and handing me a box of Saltines, "Here, try to eat a bit and work on that juice."

I nodded, chewing the crackers one at a time, managing to down four or five before I took a sip of my juice, surprised that it hadn't really changed too much in taste, but certainly not complaining.

"What time is it?" I asked, my head swimming a bit as I reached for the bottle of pills Hawkeye had kindly set on my foot locker, tossing two into my mouth and washing them down with a swig of juice, "Seems late."

Hawkeye shrugged, glancing outside, "It's around nineteen-hundred hours. If your sick brain can't handle the army time, it's about seven in the evening."

I nodded, finishing off the juice left in my glass and smiling a bit when Hawkeye refilled it carefully. "Good... I wanna sleep some more, I think. Wanna join me?"

I expected him to just nod and settle down, but he chuckled and stood up, dragging his cot over closer to mine. He shoved everything out the the way, our cots now butt up against each other, barely a crack of space between them. 

"I figured you could use some cuddling from a cuddle expert, but I didn't wanna collapse your cot," he explained, and I knew I was smiling again, even though I felt like death.

Hawkeye laid back beside me, slinging an arm around my waist and dragging me close, his front pressing against my back.

"Aren't you afraid you'll catch what I've got?" I asked quietly, wiggling in his arms until I was comfortable and content, feeling truly exhausted even though I slept all damn day, "It ain't such a peachy thing to deal with."

I felt him shrug, a fleeting little kiss pressed to the side of my neck before he buried his nose there, inhaling deeply, his eyelashes fluttering against my skin.

"I don't care. Anything to make my sick little Johnny comfortable doesn't bother me."  
And, just like that, we both chuckled and closed our eyes, ready to rest, not a care in the world.

~~~

"Trap... Trapper, wake up," Hawkeye grumbled in my ear, shaking me as gently as he could, "Trapper, wounded..."

I opened my eyes, noticing how much better I was feeling. I was still achy, but the nausea was gone and I didn't feel the fever any longer.

"Wounded?" I slurred, "We got wounded?"

"If you're not up to it, you stay in bed," Hawkeye insisted, getting to his feet and tugging his robe on, "No sweat either way."

I shook my head, standing up as well and making a grab for my own robe, tying the belt around my waist and nodding.

"I feel better," I stated simply, tossing back another glass of juice for good measure, "Much better."

I made a move for the door, but my path was blocked by Hawkeye, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"You're gonna have to do better than that, Trapper. Prove it."

I smirked, something I certainly hadn't managed to do while I was feeling sick, and I leaned closer, peppering sweet kisses to his lips before I backed up. "Have I proved myself, Doc?"

And he just grinned, stealing one more kiss before he tugged me out the door. My sick day was over, but I wasn't complaining.


End file.
